Minuets in Aeolian Mode
by Bar Sira
Summary: The PJO companion to my Harry Potter collection, "Minuets in B Minor". What a difference one word can make…
1. Titan, Handsome, Satyr, Royal

**Author's note:** As my regular readers know, I have made it a hobby of late to take passages I find on Harry Potter stories that have one crucial word misspelled or misused, and then write stories in which these malapropisms are taken literally. Now, we all know that such passages are equally easy, if not more so, to find in the PJ&O subcategory; hence, the present collection. As in the original "Minuets", the attributions may or may not be verifiable when you read this, since the authors in question may choose to correct their syntax, change their pen names, and/or delete their stories; still, you have my word that these passages have all really appeared in this subcategory.

A word about technique. Obviously, none of these vignettes actually reflect the intentions of the authors quoted, and in many cases the whole context of the passage has been radically altered. However, I have made it an ironclad rule that any pronoun will refer to the same person or thing in the Minuet as in the original story, and any direct quote will be attributed to the same character. (This applies to OCs as well as to canon characters - hence the apparently unnecessary inclusion, in various places, of characters unknown to Riordan.)

 **Disclaimer:** _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_ belongs to Rick Riordan; the stories quoted belong to the authors named (one of whom actually makes an appearance in the appropriate Minuet); the cover image is by Filippo Baratti; various other allusions to works and persons not my own abound. The stories themselves, however, are strictly my own work.

* * *

 _"Are you backing out of this dare, Percy? You can take on a Titian, but not this dare?"_ –higherthanlove22, "Truth or Dare?"

"Fund Gaia, would you, you Phrygian skunk? Well, take that! And that!"

Annabeth and Grover ran through the corridors of the Kroměříž Chateau Gallery, to the orange-walled room whence their friend's manic cries proceeded. "Percy!" Annabeth shouted.

"Not now, Annabeth!" said Percy, a fell light blazing in his eyes. "Not till I've sent this ass-eared betrayer of civilization back to Tartarus where he belongs!"

"Percy, that's not Midas!"

Percy froze, and looked at her in bewilderment. "What?" he said. "Of course it's Midas. Do you think I don't know Midas when I see him?"

"It's a _picture_ of Midas," said Annabeth. "A detail of Titian's last major mythological painting, 'The Flaying of Marsyas'. What you just did was destroy the right-hand side of the most valuable work of art in this museum."

Slowly, Percy turned his gaze back to the mutilated canvas before him, and the berserk frenzy faded from his eyes. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "So that's why Riptide wasn't turning to gold."

Grover groaned. "Well, this is going to be interesting to explain to the curators…"

* * *

 _"As she said this, a hansom guy came up behind her, putting his arms around her waist."_ –Mwbp, "New Day"

"Tony!" Thalia exclaimed. "How many times have I told you, not in public!"

"Begging your pardon, miss," said the young cabbie, taking a step back. "But I call it a right shame, the two of us being promised to each other – by the blessing of Zeus, no less – and then acting all formal-like when we runs into each other. 'Tain't what engagements was meant for – leastways, not as I ever heard on." And he gave her a sly wink.

Thalia rolled her eyes. "You know," she said, turning back to Annabeth, "I'm grateful that Dad found a loophole in the prophecy; really, I am. The power to destroy Olympus is something I'm all too glad to turn over to my husband, and, if that means entering into a 19th-Century marriage with a worthy youth restored from the Asphodel Fields, I'm good with it. But, I don't know, there's still some part of me that just doesn't feel cut out to be the wife of a Victorian hansom-cab driver."

Annabeth laughed. "Oh, I think you'll do okay," she said. "And, anyway, it's been worth it just to see you in crinolines."

* * *

 _"Sure enough, it had been exactly one year and three hours since Kronos had been vanquished along with Luke to the pits of Tartarus, by a couple of teenagers, a satire, and a Cyclops, no less."_ –AnagramRMX, "Dishonoring Parentage"

"It is over, Romans," said the Titan-possessed son of Mercury. "The age of the gods ends today; the Golden Age of yore returns. And the time shall come when you will rejoice that this was done – that you were relieved of the yoke of corruption with which Jove and his brood oppressed you, and restored to the simplicity and virtue of former days."

 _"He lies!"_ Lupa cried. _"Believe him not!"_

"But I do believe him, Mother," said Jason softly. "There must have been true virtue on Earth at one time, mustn't there? Chastity, for instance; I can believe that chastity tarried on Earth in the days of Saturnus Rex, when the world was new and the sky freshly created, and mountain wives spread humble beds of leaves and straw and animal skins. Not like _you_!" he snapped suddenly, turning on Reyna with blazing eyes. "You who burst into tears when a sparrow dies, and all the time your breasts are primed for certain overgrown infants to guzzle at!"

A mixture of shocked gasps and bewildered murmurs rippled among the crowd of New Romans, but Reyna's own eyes gleamed with comprehension. "It's an ancient and hackneyed practice, Jason," she shot back. "If you don't like it, there are plenty of nooses in the world, plenty of high windows, and the Golden Gate Bridge is right there to be jumped off of. Or maybe you'd prefer to find some boy to go with, who won't argue with you at night or complain that you're ignoring him."

"Maybe I would," Jason spat. "I should have known, I tell you. A girl whose own father wouldn't be shamed by her kisses is so rare these days, it's worth sacrificing a gilded heifer to Juno if you find one. The rest of you? You'd no more be satisfied with just one boyfriend than with just one eye!"

As if on cue, a Cyclopean battle cry echoed from the ledge above, followed almost immediately by an enraged, despairing shriek. While all eyes – including the enemy's – had been watching the inexplicable vituperations of the two praetors, the double agent Steropes had snuck up behind Luke/Saturn and thrust a flaming shaft of bronze through his skull; now, as all New Rome turned and watched him plummet to earth, the Underworld opened its maw and received its ancient prisoner once again.

As their fellow demigods, revitalized by this abrupt reversal, whipped out their weapons and advanced on the dismayed forces of the Crooked One, Jason and Reyna shared a sly smile. "Well," said Reyna. "Score one for Roman literature."

"I know," said Jason. "Who'd have thought that Saturn's downfall would lie in Juvenal's Sixth Satire?"

* * *

 _"New Yorker Annabeth Chase is a proper royale."_ –outofstyle95, summary to "Carpathia"

"No, Percy, don't!" Piper shouted, lunging toward her fellow demigod in the McDonald's booth as though the fate of the world depended on it.

Percy blinked, and lowered the burger he had been about to bite into. "Why, what's the matter?" he said. "Is it poisoned, or something?"

"It's Annabeth."

Percy stared. "Excuse me?"

Piper shrugged helplessly. "I don't know the details," she said. "But I heard these two voices talking behind the counter in French, and they were saying something about having made the Chase girl into a _Royale_ , and wouldn't Poseidon's son be humbled when he learned how they'd brought him down to their level. I couldn't figure out what they meant at first, but then I remembered watching _Pulp Fiction_ with Dad that one time…"

Hazel frowned. "Laistrygonians, you think?" she said. "Come down from Quebec?"

"Must be," said Nico grimly. "Rachel said Annabeth would be in danger if she moved to New York, didn't she? Percy, let me see that."

He took the burger out of Percy's hands, and inspected it with the eye of a son of Hades. "Well," he said after a moment, "the good news is, there's no taint of slaughter on it. They must have turned her into it directly, instead of pulling an Io on her and then getting out the axe. So Mr. D can probably restore her, if we get her back to camp in time."

He carefully refolded the wrapper, and handed the burger back to Percy. The latter, still dazed, took it and stared down at it for a moment or two; then, abruptly, he let out a bitter laugh not untinged with hysteria. "Figures, doesn't it?" he said. "The one time I get a Quarter Pounder prepared properly, and I can't eat it because it's my girlfriend. The Fates must really hate me, I tell you what…"

"Oh, Percy, don't be silly," Piper charm-spoke soothingly. "You're actually lucky, having found out in time; it's more than Tereus did. Now take a deep breath, and let's go."


	2. Chick, Iris, Canon, Lead

_"I know. And I'm sorry – because you're not going to see that bartender chic again for a long time…"_ –outofstyle95, "Carpathia"

"That's for sure," said the restaurant manager with a chuckle. "Poor John, always so careful of his appearance; he's convinced he's going to be a movie star someday, you know. And then to get bull's-eyed with the excrement of three harpies at once – and right in the middle of a Saturday dinner rush, too…"

"Well, I wouldn't worry so much about that," said Percy. "Once the Mist starts working again, his reputation should recover just fine. But, if I were you, I'd think about giving him a few weeks off; I know from personal experience how long that smell takes to fade."

"I'll do that," said the manager. "And thanks again, Mr. Jackson, for taking care of those things."

"No problem."

* * *

 _"Sure, let me go send Chiron an Irish message first."_ –Guardian of Fear, "When Loves Comes Back"

 _"Déithe duit, Chiron!_ _Fuair mé Annabeth; bhí sí ina chonaí i Minnesota ó cuig bliana, ag scríobh úrscéalta. Bhí mé ag caint leí. Beidh muid ag teacht ar ais go dtí campa aguis beidh muid a bheith ann amárach - a chinntú go bhfuil tá lao saill réidh ó an prodigal i Cábáin Sé, okay? Le mo ghrá, Percy._ _"_ *

Chiron rolled his eyes. That was Percy for you, these days; ever since he had spent that summer with the Grandsons of Finn, he had been positively obsessive in showing off his acquaintance with all things Hibernian. Even for his immortal and immortally patient teacher, it was getting wearisome.

He tossed a drachma into the fountain, and spoke the name of a small, mystic glade hidden among the hills of Leinster. The water shimmered; an immense antlered head appeared amidst the spray, and Chiron held up the letter. "Cernunnos?" he said. "Could you tell me what this says, please?"

* * *

 _"Percy/Nico, Annabeth/Piper, Jason/Reyna, other cannon pairings."_ –Pixyice, summary to "Son of Neptune"

"All right, ladies and gentlemen," said Apollo, "welcome to the first quadrennial Neo-Pythian Games, where the campers of West and East come together to pay me homage by performing crazy stunts naked. First up is the Two-Man Human Cannonball event, for which each camp has contributed three pairings of athletes: on the Greek side, we have Mr. Percy Jackson and Mr. Nico di Angelo, Miss Annabeth Chase and Miss Piper McLean, and Messrs. Travis and Connor Stoll, while the Romans will be represented by Mr. Jason Grace and Miss Reyna Ramirez, Mr. Frank Chang† and Miss Hazel Levesque, and Mr. Dakota Allen and Miss Gwendolyn Sclare. The rules are quite simple; each athlete will climb into this cannon" (he pointed) "and be fired by his partner toward this net" (he pointed again). "I and my fellow gods will then score his flight based on aerodynamic elegance, gracefulness of landing, and whether or not he actually hit the net. The pairing with the highest point total at the end of the event are the champions, and one of my children will write a nice ode about them.

"First up is Miss Levesque, who is now being loaded into the cannon by Mr. Chang – who, by the way, has promised not to change species in mid-air during his own flight, on pain of disqualification. I believe they are now ready… Mr. Chang, are you ready?"

Frank shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Miss Levesque, are you ready?"

"I cannot believe I'm doing this!" came Hazel's muffled voice from inside the cannon.

"Excellent," said Apollo. "All right, Mr. Chang: ready… aim… FIRE!"

* * *

 _"'Aww, what're you gonna do with that little toy?' she said. 'I'm a fae; led bullets don't work on me.'"_ –This is the real deal, "The Guns of Solomon"

"What do you think I am, new?" Zach retorted. "Give me credit for doing some homework; I know all about the blessing of Zeus on your people, that any shot aimed at you will surely miss. But what you fail to consider –" and he cocked and raised the rifle "– is the power of the indirect approach."

And he whirled abruptly around, turning his back on the eldritch foe below him, and fired a quick volley at the chain from which an immense vat of molten bronze hung suspended. The bullets Hera had given him sliced through the iron links like butter; the great vat seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and then toppled majestically to the ground, pouring a hundred tons of molten celestial metal down upon the doomed and shrieking fae.

Safe in his perch on the catwalk above, Zach smirked as he watched the golden liquid flow out and cover the floor of Hephaestus's foundry. "You see, it's not so much a question of the bullets being led," he said (whether to himself or to his late enemy, he wasn't sure), "as of where you lead them _to_."

* * *

*Roughly: "Hey, Chiron! Guess what, I found Annabeth; she's been living in Minnesota for five years, writing novels. I talked her into coming back to camp, and we should be there by tomorrow evening - so make sure Cabin Six has a fatted calf ready for the prodigal, okay? Love, Percy." (Special thanks to Mystery Girl 911 for the translation.)

†Spelled this way deliberately, as the author is not a barbarian or a Communist, and has no intention of spelling Chinese like one.


	3. IDs, Yolk, Plates, Sack

_"The fake ids, the cool demon-slaying gun – heck, you_ saw _me fighting that thing!"_ –This is the real deal, "The Guns of Solomon"

The demon Alaciel materialized with a faint _whoosh_ amid the murky corridors, a malignant smile upon his lips. He had already, that afternoon, imbued the subconscious minds of half a dozen youths with the conviction that the gods of Olympus were actual and worthy of worship, and that they, the youths, were their own native offspring; all that remained was to plant the same idea here, in the id of the greatest prize of all – a young swimmer named Percy Jackson, whom Alaciel's Father Below had selected for the role of "Savior of Olympus" in the upcoming pagan revival.

He raised his flute to his lips, and took in the breath he would need to pipe away the young man's sense of truth – and, at just that moment, a slender young man with silver eyes stepped out from behind a nearby outcropping of Oedipal complex. "Well, well," he said dryly. "Fancy meeting you here, Al."

Alaciel's eyes widened, and the flute fell from his hands. "Kerouac!" he gasped. "What… how… but this is impossible. Only the angelic nature has the power to infiltrate the mortal mind; your feeble humanity should never have been able to pass the superego unabstracted."

"No, I suppose it shouldn't," Zachariah Kerouac agreed. "But the thing is, you see, I didn't need to pass the superego – because this isn't Percy Jackson's id, any more than those other places you visited were the ids of Annabeth Chase, Leo Valdez, and the rest. They're fakes, mocked up by the best illusionists among the Heavenly hosts for the sole purpose of luring you to just the spot where you now stand." He snapped his fingers, and the surrounding psycho-scape melted away, revealing – to Alaciel's horror – the all-too-familiar interior of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

"You see, we knew you wouldn't just walk onto Mount Calvary of your own volition," Zach continued, smirking at the expression on Alaciel's face, "and we figured that was the only place where we could neutralize you the way we wanted. So we had to make it look like somewhere you really wanted to be – an easy enough task, given how readily these great battlefields of the soul can be made to resemble the soul itself. We thought about stopping you in Gethsemane – that was the McLean girl – but…"

"Enough!" Alaciel shrieked. "Gloat if you will, Kerouac, over your petty triumph, but know this: Hell _will_ prevail in the long run. We _will_ re-establish Olympus in our latter-day Babylon; my fellows and I _will_ reclaim the explicit adoration of the West; and you and your fellow 'saints'" (spitting the word with all the contempt he could muster) " _will_ be flung back into the arenas where you belong."

Zach nodded indulgently. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Al," he said – and then, without more ado, pulled a laser-sighted Super Soaker from off his back and fired both barrels straight at the fallen angel before him.

Two reinforced jets of holy water hit Alaciel square in the chest; he howled in agony for perhaps five seconds, and then discorporated in an explosion of fire and steam. Zach gazed expressionlessly for a moment at the puddle on the floor where he had stood, and then raised his eyes to a small camera hidden in the Church's rafters. "Riley?"

"Yeah, I saw," came his associate's voice.

"You know what to do, then," said Zach, shouldering his gun again with a wry grin. "Hunt down our Maltese friends, and tell them that the great god Pan is dead."

* * *

 _"4 eggs fell to the floor. Annabeth gasped and, being the demigod she was, she tried to reach out for them instinctively. The result: her hands were covered in yoke."_ –Artisticbelle, "Blue Cookies"

"Score!" came Travis Stoll's voice from the top of the nearby ladder. "Hey, Connor, we got the Wise Girl!"

Annabeth stared down at the wooden beam that had suddenly materialized around her hands, and the pails that dangled from each of its ends. "What in the name of…"

"It's something new we've bred the chickens to lay," said Travis. "You sneak up on someone, throw them at his shoulders, and then shout milkmaid jokes at him from the bushes. We were just going to drop them on the floor, to make sure the yoke emerged from the broken eggs the way it was supposed to; we had no idea you were going to come along and _really_ make this a trial run to remember."

Annabeth scowled up at him. "Travis," she said, "has anyone ever told you that you and your brother have way too much time on your hands?"

"Katie Gardner, about three times a day," said Travis. "Why?"

* * *

 _"Annabeth and Piper were in the kitchen washing pates with lava."_ –Mishelle Summer, "Kitchen Duty"

"Come on, slaves!" roared Enceladus and Periboia, as the two girls scrubbed frantically at their enormous scalps. "Put some elbow grease into it! We have to look our best for the Lady Gaia's re-coronation!"

Annabeth groaned, and reached for another bucket of the molten rock that served the children of Earth for shampoo. As she did so, her eyes met Piper's, and something about her friend's battle-scarred, sweat-streaked face dissolved the command she had been keeping on her tongue. "Is this really how it ends, Piper?" she whispered. "All those millennia of beauty, wisdom, and valor – can it really be over, just like that?"

She didn't expect Piper to reply; one of Gaia's first acts upon winning the war, after all, had been to have the Cherokee girl's tongue torn out so that she could no longer use her charm-speak. Yet, somehow, the mere look in Piper's eyes answered her as clearly as words could do. _It's never over, Annabeth,_ she said. _It wouldn't have been over if we'd won, and it isn't over now that we've lost. So long as one mortal heart beats on this planet, the struggle of god and giant, of light and darkness, will go on. Don't yield to despair, but take courage, and ready your heart for tomorrow's battle._

And Annabeth saw that it was so, and thanked the Fates anew for having given her such friends. Then, reflecting that she would be little use in tomorrow's battle if Enceladus crushed her out of impatience today, she emptied the bucket of lava, and scrubbed with renewed vigor at the giant's monstrous pate.

* * *

 _"Nico appeared out of the shadows and handed Thalia a sac of drachmas."_ –PikaBish3, "Wizards and Demigods: Hogwarts"*

"Here," he muttered sheepishly. "To make up for everything I said about the Hunt after Bianca joined. Dad said I should. Bye." And he moved to retreat back into the darkness.

"Wait a second," said Thalia with a frown, squeezing the spongy substance between her thumb and forefinger. "What is this?"

"Money."

"No, the thing it's in."

"Oh," said Nico. "That's the venom sac of a Megalania. Dad's got a bunch of stuff like that lying around, and I figured it was appropriate to…"

Thalia gaped at him. "Nico, are you crazy?" she demanded. "I'm not carrying around a giant prehistoric lizard's venom sac! How do I know where it's been?"

"It's been in the Underworld," said Nico. "For about fifty thousand years. I'm sure the venom's dry on it by now."

" _I'm_ not," Thalia retorted. "I have friends who have been to the Underworld; I know all about how slowly things deteriorate down there. For crying out loud, that's the whole point of…"

"Something the matter, Thalia?"

Thalia whirled around. "Oh, um… no, Mistress Artemis," she said. "Just this thing Nico brought."

She held up the sac of gold, and Artemis took it from her and examined it thoughtfully. "Indeed?" she said. "Well, thank you very much, Nico. What is it, Megalania?"

"Um… yeah," said Nico.

"Well, give Uncle Hades my kindest regards," said Artemis, slipping the ancient venom gland into her tote bag. "The next time I happen to be out West, I suppose I'll have to bring an equally choice token to give to him. And the gold was a nice thought, too."

With that, she turned and headed back to her Huntresses' camp, leaving Thalia to smolder under her cousin's triumphant smirk. "Okay, fine," she said. "I'm still washing my hands, though."

* * *

*Crossover with Harry Potter.


	4. It's, Poll, Threat, Faun

_"'But its only Wednesday.' Annabeth sounded nervous. 'That's just strange.'"_ –seagurl3, "Parallel Perspective"

Piper glanced at her quizzically. "Well, it would have to be its only some day of the week, wouldn't it?" she said. "A trecena only has thirteen days, so the seventh and central day is necessarily…"

"But why _Wednesday_?" said Annabeth. "Xaman-Ek has been planning this for years; he could have picked a tzolkin when the seventh day of the Eb trecena fell on any day of the Western week. Why would he go out of his way to attack Olympus on a day specially influenced by Hermes, when it's supposed to be Hermes that he especially wants to take out?"

Piper blinked. "You know, I hadn't thought about that," she said. "You're right, it's weird. Of course, it could have something to do with the haab, but I don't see how – and the only other possibility…" She trailed off, and shot Annabeth a frightened glance. "You don't think…"

"Isn't it possible?" said Annabeth. "The Maya were a notoriously scholarly, clerkly nation – just the sort that the Lord of Mercury would find it easiest to dominate. What if all that business about the two rival gods of the road was just a cover, and really they're not rivals at all, but… the other thing?"

"You do think." Piper sounded sick. "You really think one of our own gods is trying to sell out the West to the Mesoamericans. And, being you, you're probably right." She groaned. "Well, what do we do now?"

"Notify Olympus, of course," said Annabeth briskly. "You have a drachma?"

* * *

 _"I'm undecided who the pairing should be. So here's a pole to help me decide."_ –Berathoralghoul, author's note to "Champion of Hell"

"So how does this work again?" said Berathoralghoul nervously.

Erato sighed, but indulgently: she was accustomed to this sort of reluctance from first-time writers. "You see this pole?" she said, brandishing the ten-foot wooden rod she was carrying. "I am going to use it to hit you over the head, thus causing my inspiration to flow into your brain, and allowing you to discover a novel and exciting pairing to use in 'Champion of Hell'. It's a very rare privilege that I only grant to my most favored writers, so you might wipe that deer-in-the-headlights look off your face and try for something suitably grateful instead. Now, are you ready?"

Berathoralghoul hesitated a moment, and then nodded; Erato took the pole in both hands, reared back, and – WHACK!

For a moment, all that Berathoralghoul was conscious of was a sound like the ringing of a million fire alarms; then the ringing resolved itself into a single word, and the young writer uttered a glad cry. " _Lupon!_ "

Erato arched an eyebrow. "Indeed?"

"Of course!" said Berathoralghoul. "Lupa/Chiron! The masters of the two camps, burning with a secret passion for each other! _Never_ seen that before! Thanks, Miss E., you're the best!"

Erato acknowledged this homage with a gracious wave of her hand; Berathoralghoul darted from the room, and a few seconds later came a clatter of word-processor keys to indicate that creation was in progress. With a satisfied smile, the Muse of Love Poetry shouldered her pole and departed, whistling a few bars of "Annie's Song" as she went.

* * *

 _"What happens after a few years, the camp faces a new fret."_ –Flamez of the Fading, summary to "Forgotten Savior"

Nobody, not even Mr. D, knew why an enormous guitar had suddenly appeared one morning just over Camp Half-Blood's eastern property line. Everyone agreed, however, that it was a terrible inconvenience, blotting out the sunrise every morning and causing half the camp to wake up late and miss breakfast, and all agreed to help try and drag it away.

And so the work began. Hephaestus rigged up an elaborate system of pulleys, gears, and steam-powered turbines; Demeter contributed a team of supernaturally powerful oxen, and each inhabited cabin took turns coming out in the afternoon to add their own half-divine elbow grease to the effort. Result: by the time that the youngest of the demigods present that morning were released into the world, the camp that they left, which had originally faced the guitar's fourth fret, now faced its third.

"Well," Chiron philosophically observed, "Athens wasn't built in a day."

* * *

 _"The fawn was walking cautiously through the sand, his hooves sinking."_ –MarvellouslyWondrous, "He Who Would Know"

Then Thalia shot him, and she and Artemis enjoyed his roasted venison as the moon rose over the Sleeping Bear Dunes.


	5. Lose, Breath, An, Adam's

_"Annabeth came running into my arms, tears falling down her cheeks. 'I can't loose you[,] Seaweed Brain.'"_ –JustRecreate, "Immortal"

I ran my hands through her hair. "It's okay, Wise Girl. I…"

"No, it's not!" Annabeth said. "My one true love is bound by the chains of Erebus, and I can't solve the riddle that will loose him from them! What kind of child of Athena _am_ I?"

I thought about that. "Maybe you're approaching it too straightforwardly," I suggested. "From what I've seen of Apate, I can't imagine she'd set anyone a test that didn't have a trick in it somewhere."

"What kind of trick could there be?" said Annabeth. "The terms were perfectly plain: divide a hundred millet seeds among a circle of eight bowls, so that the content of each bowl is closer to ten seeds than that of the bowl to its left. Which is impossible, because one of the bowls has to be closer to ten seeds than any of the others – and then what do you do with the bowl to its right?"

"What if you put exactly ten seeds in one of the bowls?" I said.

Annabeth gave me an impatient look. "Then you _really_ couldn't do anything with the bowl to its right, could you?" she said. "What's closer to ten seeds than ten seeds is?"

"Nothing," I admitted.

"Exactly," said Annabeth. "So what…"

Then, suddenly, her eyes went wide, and she sat completely still for about half a minute. I was starting to worry that the sulfurous air in Apate's dungeon was messing with her brain, when suddenly she reached up and kissed me on the cheek. "You know something, Percy?" she said. "You're a genius."

* * *

 _"Is not[,] owl face!" Poseidon said glaring back at Athena._

 _"Tuna breathe!"_ –7 Demi-gods Answer the Call, "50, 51 and 52"

"Do not, skull spawn!"

"Blue whales are larger than paddlefish!"

"Are not, olive brain!"

"The Arctic lion's-mane jellyfish, which can attain a length of over 35 meters, feeds primarily on organic matter!"

"Does not, Eumenes-loving coddler of Theophrastian creepazoids!"

Hades gave his assembled relatives a sidelong glance. "Er… how much longer may they be expected to go on this way?"

"Well, it varies," said Hera, "but generally Poseidon has to offensively contradict at least 25 obviously true statements of Athena's before he's willing to agree with her about something. So if you want a united Olympus rallied to stand against the Primevals, brother dear, then I suggest you settle down and get comfortable."

* * *

 _"Deicide, a X-Men + Percy Jackson and the Olympians Crossover fanfic"_ –page heading for a story by sunny-bear

A green light filled the Olympian throne room where the goddess Nike stood sentinel, and there appeared the figures of three men, clad in bulky yellow space suits with the Greek letter _**X**_ printed in black across their torsos. Their faces were concealed behind opaque face-plates, and even the shape of their bodies was difficult to discern; there was, however, no mistaking the aura of resolute menace that their very presence evoked.

Nike snapped to attention, and lowered her spear in challenge. "Who goes there?" she demanded. "What would you with the throne of Zeus?"

"With the throne, nothing," said the central figure, his voice strangely distorted by the vodor of his suit. "With its occupant and his kindred, however, a great deal. I am Serlin Herrekh; these are my companions, Gwajny an'Soder and Trembo Yem Ortine; and we have come from the stars on a mission of deicide."

Nike took a moment to process this statement, and then laughed aloud. "Deicide?" she repeated. "Don't be stupid, Mr. Herrekh. Who says _god_ says _immortal_ ; we can't be killed, any more than we can die of old age."

Serlin Herrekh nodded. "Yes, so you have convinced the foolish creatures of this globe," he said. "In our callow youth, we too believed; it was only in our exile from our native world that the truth was revealed to us. In the ruins of Drag-sa, under the mutating rays of Chi Phoenicis, we discovered the secret of your origin and nature – and received, as well, the power to expunge your lying pretenses from the cosmos."

He raised his right hand, and his companions raised theirs in unison; a red mist began to seep from Nike's mouth and nostrils, and she felt the strength of immortality vanish from her limbs. With a groan, the goddess of victory collapsed onto the ground, her once-proud form withering and shriveling as the eons she had endured took their long-forestalled revenge.

"Go to the shades, old woman," were the last words she heard. "And boast that the Chi-Men sent you thither."

* * *

 _"I blink and swallow hard and watch as Percy's Adams apple bobs."_ –VMA1998, "Fight for It"

Piper laughs, and pats me on the shoulder. "Really, Annabeth, you've got to learn to relax," she says. "It's just a silly stunt, that's all; even if you don't end up with Percy's apple, it's not the end of the world."

"Easy for you to say," I mutter, shooting a glance at the Alexander-Hamilton-engraved Honey Crisp in her hand.

Piper shrugs. "So I got lucky," she says. "I was probably bound to; this whole thing was my mom's idea, after all. But it's not as though Jason would have dumped me if I hadn't gotten his apple – and I'm sure Percy won't, either. Worst-case scenario, you end up having to spend Independence Day with some other boy, and then the two of you have an excuse to spend extra time together on the 5th."

Sound Cabin-Ten counsel, no doubt – but it doesn't keep me from spending another half a minute memorizing the exact shape and position of the John Adams apple in the bucket. (I could swear that fat little New Englander is smirking at me, even though I know it's just Percy's clumsiness with the X-Acto Knife.) Then, at last, I close my eyes and plunge my face forward.

I lunge blindly through the water, snapping my teeth in the direction that ought to be right. For what feels like an eternity, I meet with nothing but water; then, just as my twenty seconds are almost up, I feel the smooth skin of an apple graze my lips. Hastily, I clamp my teeth onto it, hoist myself back onto my feet, and spit it into my hand.

Someone tosses me a towel, and I accept it automatically, all my attention focused on blinking the water out of my eyes so that I can see the apple I'm holding. _Adams, Adams, please be…_

"GOUVERNEUR MORRIS?" I shriek.

"What's that?" calls Connor Stoll. "Some fair demigoddess has bobbed up my Founding Father apple? Oh, joy of joys!"

It's going to be a long Fourth of July this year.


	6. Warri–, Silena, Hurtling, Inform

_"'I am Beck the son of Ares[,] the best worri-' [H]e was cut off by Thalia walking up to him and punching him in the nose[,] shutting him up."_ –Shadowlord1295, "Percy Jackson the Guardian of the Hunt and Son of Chaos"

"Thalia!" said Chiron sharply.

"Sorry, sir," said Thalia, not sounding sorry at all, "but I just couldn't stand listening to that spiel of his again. 'Oh, I'm the best worrier there is; nobody worries like I do…' I mean, seriously, how is that even a skill? Anybody can sit around worrying about something; heroism is when you get off your duff and try to do something about it."

"Bite your tongue, Grace!" said Clarisse, swelling with outrage. "Are you trying to say that my brother has been wasting his life developing an artistry of fretfulness – that all the months he spent attaining the cleanest possible fingernail bite, the perfect tempo of hyperventilation, and the most poignantly affecting pitch at which to squeal in girlish panic, have contributed nothing whatever to the actual betterment of mankind?"

"Yes," said Thalia.

Clarisse frowned, and considered. "Huh," she said. "I guess you're right, at that. Beck, why don't you grow up and get a life, anyway?"

* * *

 _"'…Oh look, the princess has arrived!' Annabeth said with a grin as Selina came down the stairs to our living room."_ –JPAnderson, "WTF Annabeth!"*

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Miss Chase," Selina replied. "I'm no princess, and wouldn't want to be; just a plain Gotham City girl with a taste for things that sparkle."

"Well," said Annabeth, "whatever you are, the gods want to meet you; Hermes still can't believe you picked his pocket without him noticing, and I'm pretty sure Zeus wants to offer you a job. If you're interested, they'll be waiting for you on top of the Empire State Building in half an hour."

"I'll be there," said Selina, grabbing up her signature cat suit and heading for the ladies' room. "Just give me a few minutes to get changed; no Olympian is going to meet Selina Kyle in anything but her best."

* * *

 _"I didn't want them to find me, so I started hurling through the trees again."_ –PercyJacksonFan2549, "Chaos' Commander"

"Forward, half-bloods!" Thomas McCollum barked, slashing at the foliage with his celestial-bronze machete. "We won't let that loser Percy get away from us this time! I've still got plenty of taunting him that I want to do, now that I've stolen his girl and turned his friends against him for no discernible…" He paused, and wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, what's that smell?"

He was answered a few seconds later, as an immense blob of half-digested blue food soared through the woods and splattered over the row of demigods to his right. Which, though repulsive, was gratifying enough in its way; if Jackson was freaked out enough to lose his lunch that violently, Thomas could only be pleased. What was unnerving, though, was its effect on the others who had been hit; about half of them immediately fell over and began waving their limbs vaguely in the air, while the other half ran off in every direction except forward, most of them straight into trees.

Frowning, Thomas made a move to grab Thalia as she stumbled past, but Annabeth, at his left, clutched his arm and pulled it away. "No, Thomas!" she cried. "Don't touch it!"

"It?" said Thomas.

"The Projectile Vomit of Disorientation!" said Annabeth. "I should have remembered: now that Percy's bathed in the River Styx, anyone stained by his tossed cookies loses all sense of direction for 24 hours!"

"Oh." Thomas blinked. "I didn't know that was part of the package."

Annabeth colored. "Well, no, most people don't," she said. "Achilles didn't use it much; he thought it was unworthy of a warrior, and fairly disgusting to boot. But I guess Percy feels differently."

Thomas sneered. "He would," he said. "Well, Annabeth, if your ex-boyfriend thinks he can foil Thomas McCollum by hurling through the trees at him, he's got another think coming." He raised his machete. "Forward!"

SPLAT!

"…um… whichever direction that is."

* * *

 _"I am not bound to those rules so I saw fit to bring my sons and I form their father about them before they leave."_ –Bladewolf101, "The Legend of Bladewolf: Son of the Sky"

"You do what?" said Hermes, blinking.

Chaos grinned manically, and snapped her fingers. There was a flash of polychromatic light, and something appeared about the two youths' feet – something that appeared to be a curled-up wolf, except that it was bright blue and had spikes sticking out of its body at odd angles.

"Behold the bridegroom of Chaos!" that individual announced. "His name is Machairolycos and even though I just formed him myself he's the son of Uranus because rules are stupid and anyway he's going to be my sons' father which you probably think he can't be because they existed before he did but that's because you don't understand real creativity the way my son David did who really _got_ this whole reality thing even though he hated leaving Scotland and then there's quantum uncertainty and all that cool stuff which you can't argue with because it's science so that's how Mackie's going to…"

"Breathe, Chaos," Hera murmured.

"…and he's going to take them on fishing trips and teach them about ornithology and beekeeping and all the things that dads do with their sons unless they're too busy being gods and stuff which of course I totally understand but anyway we'd better get going so bye!" And, with another dazzling flash, the Olympians found themselves once again alone in the throne room.

There was a moment's stunned silence, which Apollo, shifting awkwardly in his seat, was the first to break. "You know, I _should_ have taken Will fishing a couple times," he said. "It would have been good for him – and probably me, too. You think it's too late, Athena?" he inquired, glancing at the half-sister to his right.

"Just a second, 'Poll," said Athena, withdrawing a calculator from her purse. With great care, she punched in "2 + 2" and hit Enter; as the resulting 4 flashed up at her, she leaned back in her throne with a sigh of relief. "There we go," she said. "I knew this world couldn't _really_ have been Chaos's creation."

* * *

*Ironically, this one really was a crossover originally – but with Harry Potter, not Batman.


End file.
